The Court of Ardor
by Kendoka Girl
Summary: In the South of Middle Earth, a deadly and evil group flourishes, powered by the wrath of Melkor. Their task, if completed, would throw all of Middle Earth into darkness. Only a few of the Elves are left to oppose them. Based on the MERP RPG.
1. Introduction

**Introduction – Here's a wee intro for those who may not be LOTR/Silmarillion readers. Hopefully, it makes sense.**

Deep in the southern parts of Middle Earth, away from the mighty wars of Beleriand in the First Age, Morgoth has planted the seeds for the conquest of the world. This will hopefully be an epic tale, full of warriors, demons, dragons, magic, powerful beings, what have you. I always envisioned the Elves as being completely different in their thinking, speech, and approach to life, so I'm giving them a sense of mystique and culture that is somewhat archaic. You won't often have an Elf say, "Wassup?" I want to look into the character and mind of those both good and evil and hopefully breathe a little life into them. There won't be a central protagonist, but rather an ensemble story with a mixture of characters.

For those unfamiliar with the LOTR mythos –

Eru is the one god, creator of Eä, the world

The Ainur are immortal spirits, servants of Eru

The Valar are the highest of the Ainur and there are 14, excluding Melkor/Morgoth

Melkor was the greatest of the Valar, but was corrupted

The Maiar are the lesser of the Ainur

The Sun and the Moon are vessels inhabited by the Maiar, Anar and Isil

The Elves are the Firstborn of Eru. They are immortal and never succumb to disease. They are split into several kindreds

The Vanyar are the Fair Elves and most beloved of the Valar. They tend to have golden hair and are exceedingly tall of stature

The Noldor are the Deep or High Elves and most skilled in crafts and lore. They are proud and curious and tend to have black hair.

The Teleri are the Woods Elves and are the closest to nature. They make skilled sailors and hunters.

The Eldar are those Elves that came to reside in Valinor, the land of the Valar

The Sindar are those of the Teleri that did not make the journey to Valinor and remained in Middle Earth

The Men are the Secondborn of Eru and are mortal. They come in infinite races and sizes. The Men of the West, or Dunédain, are long lived and taller of stature.

The Dwarves are the children of the Vala, Aulë. Created in secret, they tend to like underground dwellings and often excel in crafts

The Orcs are creations of Morgoth and are Elves, who were warped by his evil


	2. The Death of the Trees

Updated 19 Sep 06. Here is the epic story of how Morgoth tries to destroy the Sun and Moon and return Middle Earth to darkness. Excerpts are taken from the Silmarillion and the story is based on the MERP role playing game, The Court of Ardor.

**The Death of Telperion and Laurelin**

In the land of eternal light, only darkness reigned.

The two massive Trees of Light shone no more, their essence drained by the horror of the spider demon, Ungoliant and the treachery of the most powerful of the Vala, Melkor. Darkness shrouded all of Eä, the world made by Eru the creator. Once, the Trees had given forth light for eons over the blessed land, called Valinor in the language of the Elves who inhabited it. Created by the Valar, powerful beings and rulers of Valinor, the Trees' brilliance could be seen a continent away on Middle Earth. Telperion and Laurelin they were called, inspiring the sophisticated culture of the immortal Elves. Now they were just dead wood.

In the confusion that ensued, Melkor sacked the holds of the Noldor Elves and stole their treasures. There, he slew the Finwë, High King of the Noldor and took the most sacred of jewels, the Simarili. Finwë's son, the mighty Fëanor, discovered this treachery and named Melkor, Morgoth Bauglir, the dark enemy.

Then, Morgoth and the hideous Ungoliant fled out of Valinor after their wicked deed and passed over the grinding ice of the North and then to Morgoth's hold of Angband, there to quarrel over the treasures they had stolen from the Elves. The Valar, Tulkas and Orome, gave pursuit, but the dark webs of Ungoliant shrouded their retreat and the chase was abandoned in confusion and despair.

**Angband**

**Fëatur**

Deep in the bowels of the fortress of Angband, the Elf Feätur wept bitter tears. In his younger days in Valinor, he had been swayed by Melkor's sweet words and had been enlisted in the Vala's service. Melkor had taught him well and he had grown powerful in the service of the Vala. He and his twin sister, also named Feätur, had been an amusement for the mighty Vala, as they would often impersonate each other to fool their fellows. However, their similarities ended with their appearance. The brother, never truly corrupt, had begun to doubt Melkor's words of a new world order and a better, freer existence for all Elves.

From the depths of twisted fortress, he wept upon hearing of the death of the Trees. He remembered their godlike beauty from the blessed land and he renounced Morgoth and his lies. _My crimes are unforgivable. I have fallen into evil, thinking I was doing good. I caused the Elves to look away so that Melkor could pervert their minds and deceive them._

No longer could he live with his own guilt, having furthered the cause of evil and spreading deception among the Elves. His own words spoke against those who saw through Morgoth and desired his banishment from Valinor. He had helped to trick the rulers of Valinor until Morgoth could mount his attack.

_If I had only seen the truth. If I had only known. There is no going back._

His life should end here, encased in the foul pits of Angband. On his knees, he raised his hands up. "Illuvatar, I have betrayed you," he cried out to Eru. "End my suffering and let me pay for my crimes."

The taste of salty tears was thick in his mouth and he collapsed on the ground in grief. It was then that the hand of Eru released his spirit.

As with all Elves, Feätur's spirit returned to Valinor and passed into the Halls of Mandos, there to stand within the Mahanaxar; the Ring of Doom, and answer for his life. On his knees before the assemble judges, he begged for forgiveness. "Cast me into the utter void! I deserve no less."

The Valar sat in judgment, listening to his pleas. Sensing his heart to be cleansed and moved by his repentance, the powerful Valar found mercy and Feätur's life was returned to him. Manwë, Lord of the Valar, pointed a stern, but merciful finger at the elf. "We charge you, Feätur, to return east across the Sea to Middle Earth to combat the minions of Morgoth. You will be a beacon for the free peoples, though your road will be long and painful. This will be your penance."

Golden haired Feätur, Lord among the Elves wept again, this time for joy. However, over the millennia that he would yet live, he could never forget nor forgive his own transgression.

**The Jewels of Fëanor**

With the death of the Trees, the World had been plunged into utter darkness. Shrouded from detection, Morgoth and his wicked companion sped away. Fleeing North, Morgoth sacked the city of Formenos and slew King Finwë there.

The treasures of the Noldor were taken, including the Silmarili, fantastic jewels created by Fëanor, Finwë's eldest son and the greatest of the Elven smiths. The three jewels, made from the light of the Two Trees, burned Morgoth's hands with fire, but his greed drove him on.

Upon arriving in Lammoth in northwest Middle­ Earth, Ungoliant confronted her companion and demanded the riches stolen from Formenos. Devouring most of the jewels, save the priceless Silmarili, the Spirit of the Void grew. She loomed like a monstrous spider shaped cloud of black nothingness and demanded Fëanor's creations. The rogue Vala refused and the former allies battled. Summoning his Balrogs, mighty spirits of flame, Morgoth prevailed. Ungoliant fled into the wilderness of the continent, Endor. Ungoliant eventually made her home in the Valley of Dreadful Death, known as the Nan Dungortheb, on the northern edge of the land of Beleriand. She devoured all that lived there and mated with some of her monstrous prey. She spawned a race of demon spiders that would haunt Endor for ages. Here, she also belched out the devoured jewels in huge clouds of darkness, warped and corrupted.

Rescued by the Balrogs and forever free of Ungoliant, Morgoth journeyed to Angband and rejoined the remainder of his surviving servants. There, his lieutenant, Sauron had gathered the remnants of the host that served the Black Enemy before his fall in the Battle of the Powers. Morgoth took a new throne and began to rebuild his frozen domain. Strengthening his numbers, he augmented Angband's delvings and constructed a stronghold that rivaled his old, now shattered, subterranean fortress at Utumno. The waste of his minions' toils piled skyward with each passing year. Using this slag, the Black Enemy erected Thangorodrim, the triad of peaks beneath which lay his dark capital.

Morgoth claimed dominion over the World, calling himself King. To symbolize his sovereignty, he placed the three Silmirili in a crown of iron, the most potent item of power he ever created. With it, he channels his energies to forge an army of countless denizens: Orcs and Trolls, Wolves and Wargs, Spectres and Werebeasts, as well as Dragons and Balrogs. In a most foul experiment, Morgoth warped captured elves and turned them into the vicious orcs.

When the darkness had passed from Valinor and the damage assessed, the Noldor of Aman planned to avenge their King's murder. Fëanor declared himself High King of the Noldor and cursed the Valar for their weakness. His words were filled with anger, stirring the Noldor to madness. He urged the Noldor to follow him away from the Blessed Land and win their own freedom and establish great realms.

Together with his seven sons, Fëanor swore to pursue with vengeance any whoso should hold or take or keep a Silmaril from their possession. There too, stood young Almarië, daughter of Maglor, son of Fëanor. Fair she was and strong of body and spirit. As her father and grandfather swore their oath, silent she stood, unable to utter the horrible oath.

Leaving through the eastward pass called Calacirya, the Noldor entered Eldamar on the eastern coast of Aman. There, they encountered the sea faring elves called the Teleri at the Haven of Alqualondë. They requested the use of the Teleri's beautiful Swan Ships to ferry them to Endor. King Olwë's Teleri refused, knowing that the Noldor were in revolt. Enraged, the Noldor attacked their brother Elves, and stole their enchanted boats to depart Valinor. The lightly armed Teleri fought valiantly, but were no match for the proud and well-armed Noldor. Almarië watched as the friends of her youth were slaughtered by her kin. She wept bitter tears as the bloodied swan ships sailed from the Blessed Realm.

There, the Kin slaying of Alqualondë doomed the Noldor. Thus, they incurred the wrath of the Valar and the Curse of Mandos, doomsayer among the Valar. Fëanor laughed in spite as his people cowered. Thus it was that the Noldor passed out of Valinor into the darkness of Middle Earth.

The journey was long and arduous and there were many dissenters. Fëanor repaid them by leaving them on the shore while he and those faithful to him sailed away. Landing on the shores of Middle Earth, he burned the unearthly swan boats of the Teleri, determined that he should never look back.

Morgoth, learning of the landing, attacked. With his orcs and huge trolls, he assaulted the Noldor encampments. Fëanor's fury overcame the minions of Morgoth they were quickly defeated and fled. As Morgoth's legions melted, Maglor and his daughter Almarië hewed their way to the forefront of the battle. Many orcs and other demons fell before the sword of the Eldarin princess.

In his madness, Fëanor became berserk and could not me contained. He pursued the beaten enemy North outrunning his own troops. Soon he alone was in pursuit. Seeing the turn of events, Morgoth unleashed his Balrogs, fire spirits of incredible might, and Fëanor was dealt mortal wounds by Gothmog, Lord of the Balrogs. Fëanor's seven sons drove the horde of demons away, but Fëanor passed soon after, holding his sons to their oath.

Thus ended the Battle Under the Stars. Upon Fëanor death, Fingolfin was named as the High King of the Noldor.

The darkness that surrounded Valinor was complete and a doom hung over the blessed land. They had been deceived and betrayed by the powerful Morgoth. Now the Noldor had revolted and departed the land. Many Teleri lay dead and their boats taken and burned. The Noldor who remained lived in shame and guilt. However, in the depths of despair, Eru revealed a plan so grand and astonishing that the Valar and the Elves were amazed.

**The Sun and Moon**

The rising of the Sun and Moon were first seen in Valinor and heralded as an unparalleled event in history. Songs were sung and praises given. The receptacles of light were fashioned by the great Vala Smith, Aulë and inhabited by spirits of lesser power called Maiar. They would travel the sky bringing light and hope to the peoples of the World and fear to those of evil.

The orcs, trolls and other demons that served Morgoth fell on their faces in fear upon sight of the rising Sun. His armies fled in terror back to the Fortress of Angband, sealing themselves in the dark caverns. Morgoth cursed his brother and sister Valar and resolved to find a way to bring these monstrosities down from the sky.

Sixty years after the rising of the Sun and Moon, Morgoth unleashed another assault upon the Elves. The new Noldor King, Fingolfin, routed the hordes of Morgoth and his armies chased the orcs to the very gates of Angband. Fingolfin pounded upon the gates of Angband, challenging Morgoth himself. Godlike Vala though he was, Morgoth shook with fear and hid in his fortress. The Noldor victory was complete and Angband was laid siege for more than four hundred years.


	3. Ardana's Task

Updated 19 Sep 06. The destruction of the Sun and Moon are on! More to come.

**The Task is Given to Ardana**

Deep within the bowels of Angband, Morgoth brooded over his defeat. The Iron Crown holding the three brilliant Silmarili sat heavy upon his enraged visage. Once handsome and charismatic, Morgoth's evil had corrupted his appearance. Now, he was shrouded in cloudy darkness and his eyes shone with a red fire. At his feet sat a huge, horribly deformed wolf, Draugluin, the greatest of the Werewolves, a beast bloated with the meat of captives and slaves.

With his unearthly intellect, the Vala deduced that much of the blame for his defeat could be attributed to the fear his monsters had of the light. He understood that the destruction of the Sun and Moon would be a key factor if he were to defeat the Noldor and eventually the indigenous Elves, the Sindar. To accomplish this, he summoned one of his most able servants, a Noldor Elf seduced by dreams of power. Her name was Ardana.

"_This task is of the utmost importance. I have selected you based upon your knowledge and abilities as an astronomer. As you know, the birth of the two orbs, the sun and the moon, has shrouded your beloved stars. We seek to rectify this and restore the world to its natural beauty. The Valar in their arrogance seek to mar the world and bend it to their will. We will change that." _

Morgoth's words were like sweet wine and Ardana was intoxicated. Like the Noldor, she was tall and fair of skin with black hair flowing to her waist. Her eyes appeared as single black orbs complimenting her robes of midnight blue woven with silver thread. It appeared as though she wore a field of stars. Ardana was once a follower of the Varda, who created the stars and enchanted the Sun and Moon, but many centuries ago Morgoth filled her with false dreams. Soon, she became one of his most fanatical followers.

"I will obey," she chimed, kneeling before the Vala. Dwarfed by his size, she knelt in the shadow of his throne.

Morgoth scratched his huge werewolf.

"_For this task I will provide you with necessary assistance. Some of my most trusted servants will accompany you. You will take them and escape the siege through one of the tunnels. I command you to make your new home in the South, far away. There, you can work unhindered." _

The sound of his voice held her enraptured as it did back in Valinor. Her life's work lay ahead. She would die sooner than disobey her lord. Three others entered the infernal throne room, summoned by Morgoth.

"Ardana, you are to take these three and others of your choosing. First is Morfuin, a spirit of fire. Next, Cambragol and Fëatur."

Morgoth introduced the three and they stepped forward. Morfuin stood sixteen feet tall and was shrouded in flame. His skin was like red oily leather, but his face was almost elfin in appearance except for his bald head. He wore a belt unaffected by the flames and attached to that were a massive sword and a black multi-thronged whip: the weaponry of a Balrog.

Cambragol was handsome Noldo. Standing six and a half feet in height, his muscular physique and golden hair cut a dashing figure. His cobalt blue eyes showed only arrogance and cruelty. Originally a warrior for the Noldor cause, he betrayed his brethren and joined the ranks of the Dark Master. Ironically, he wore a white tunic and pants that revealed his prowess as a monk, expert in the arts of hand-to-hand combat.

Finally, there was Fëatur. Taller than Ardana, she stood at over six feet in height with shoulder length golden hair. Dressed in black robes she carried a petulant expression like a badge of honor. It had been rumored that Fëatur had a twin brother, but that he was weak of will and spirit and died soon after Morgoth's great victory over Valinor.

Together, this group would form a coven of evil that would terrorize Middle Earth for nearly sixty centuries. Gathering their possessions they departed Angband and headed south as Morgoth commanded.

**Fëatur**

Fëatur sat in the waiting area while birds sang in the nearby courtyard and the faint smell of flowers perfumed the air. The beauty of the setting stood in contrast with Fëatur's dark soul. He had come here to enlist the help of three powerful elves in his fight against Morgoth. He had learned of his sister's journey south and had come to intercept her. At one time, they could sense each other's thoughts and feelings, even over great distances. However, after his repentance, the Valar had given him the ability to shroud his thoughts from his sister.

The 'Three' entered and seated themselves in front of Fëatur. They were all tall, muscular, and tanned. They all had eyes of emerald green and mahogany red hair. All were dressed in white robes. The tallest, introduced himself as Lyaan, leader of the people of Arana. The second, a woman, was Lysa, and the third, was Lyrin.

"I have heard of your wisdom as leaders. I have come to give you a warning and to enlist your help," Fëatur stated emotionlessly. Lysa raised an eyebrow, but the others showed no emotion. With a short pause, Fëatur continued, "I have learned that a group dedicated to Morgoth has entered the area and intends to make this land their home. They no doubt have a mission for the dark enemy, but I have not yet discovered it. My intention is to destroy this group. My life is dedicated solely to this purpose."

Lyaan furrowed his brow. "We followed Fëanor out of Valinor and made our home here away from the wars. We wish no trouble. We have no desire to bring attention to ourselves."

Fëatur sighed. He fought to contain his feelings, but it was obvious he was annoyed, "Lyaan, whether you act or not, this group will. I assure you that their actions will not be pleasant nor will they benefit your people."

Lyaan replied, "We have lived peacefully for a century since the rising of the Sun and Moon. Our people prosper and are content. Can you not leave us be?"

Fëatur rose sharply, his fist straining with anger. Lyaan rose also in challenge, but Lysa held him. Fëatur shook his head and spoke, "My business is concluded here. I will leave you in peace, but they certainly will not." He turned away from them, the darkness in his soul growing.

When Fëatur had departed, Lysa held the hands of both Lyaan and Lyrin. She spoke softly to Lyaan, "Lord, you were too harsh. He has a legitimate concern and speaks as one dedicated to his cause. I see that he has a great task laid upon him. We should not have turned him away so coldly."

Lyaan bit his lip, regretting the outcome of the meeting. The words of Lysa sank in as she was indeed the wisest of the three and her counsel had always proven valuable. "What is done cannot be undone. Fate will have to take its course."

The three would go back to leading the Arana who resided in the beauty of Ty Ar-­Rana, the complex created through Noldor mastery nearly a century ago.

**Ardana Goes South**

**Ardana**

"Your evil is only paralleled by your beauty," spoke the muscular Noldo barring the passage of Ardana's group. He stood nearly six and a half feet tall with coal black hair in a bowl cut and his skin was deeply tanned. His eyes were his most striking feature, being metallic silver, which were highlighted by the voluminous robe of black, trimmed with silver that he wore.

The monk, Cambragol rode forward. "Let me rip this impertinent swine's throat out, M'Lady."

Ardana merely smiled in an offhand way. She raised her hand, blocking the monk. "Be still Cambragol, I sense we may have found an ally to our cause."

The newcomer smiled broadly in return and bowed. "I am Morthaur, at your service."

With Morthaur came Valmorgul, a sorcerer by trade. He was taught by Morgoth's lieutenant, Sauron, and had become powerful and feared by many. They would be perfect additions to Ardana's quest. Later that night when they had encamped, Valmorgul spoke, "Ardana, if we wish to establish dominion over this area, we must construct fortresses to house armies and command the region."

Morthaur nodded his consent as Cambragol bristled at the newcomer's audacity. However, he remained silent.

Morfuin the demon spoke in his deep rumbling voice, "I agree. This would be a wise policy. We must recruit followers and establish strong points."

Ardana nodded in agreement. "We should find a site to establish our base."

Several months passed while the group searched and recruited. Many of the people of Arana were swayed by the newcomers and joined their cause. To strengthen their position, Morgoth sent others for their expertise. One among them who rose to prominence was Rilia, a Noldorin Woman of great power and beauty. A wielder of flame and sorcery, her passion helped fuel the fires of the group. Her dark red hair was a rarity among the Noldor and her charms convinced Morgoth to grant her leave from Angband to establish her own realm.

Rilia showed her new companions the location of an island in the middle of the bay later to be called the Usakan Bay. It was 30 miles wide and 'C' shaped with an excellent bay, amply shielded from the curious and unwary. Through her influence she summoned a demon with great skills in building and forging. He was called Lesh Y and he would prove most valuable to Ardana and her group. He had been a formidable smith in the service of Morgoth.

Work was begun soon after in constructing a citadel. Its design would be an eight-sided tower made of smooth black stone like polished marble. The doors would all be of iron, steel, or laen, a volcanic glass harder than steel. The tower itself would rise three hundred and twenty feet in height, a formidable stronghold. Lesh Y drew up the plans and Ardana's followers gathered materials and manpower. The destruction of the Sun and Moon had begun.


	4. The Forging of the Court

Writer's Notes - We're introducing the characters bit by bit to hopefully get you to know them a bit better. Imagine Featur as an angtsy anime/manga kind of guy.

**The Forging of the Court**

**Ardana**

With her ebony hair tied in a pony tail, Ardana sat within the council chamber on the ninth floor of the Citadel. The massive construction project had taken several decades, but the fruits of labor were beginning to show. Walls of smooth, black stone with veins of gold encased the Seer in her studies.

_We have come very far in so short a time. My mission for the Dark Lord is taking shape. Time and patience will be our allies._

In a circle around the Seer, eleven other thrones circled a central octagonal table forged of unmarred obsidian and each had its own, unique table. Ardana's throne was carved of black marble and was solid and blocky in design. However, this did not offset the throne's comfort as the plush maroon upholstery enveloped her like cotton. Before her throne was a smooth polished table of laen glass, tinted a translucent smoky black. Above her head was an iris in the ceiling that allowed starlight in, bathing the room in a warm glow.

She smiled, satisfied that things were going very well. Clad in his black robes, Valmorgûl, dubbed the Magician, sat upon his own throne as a floating quill took notes of their meeting on his transparent laen table.

Ardana stood and walked across the polished black floor. "As prescribed by the Dark Lord, I now have enough members to create a court. His inspiration has given me some bold ideas of how to organize it: There will be four groups, or suits, representing the major elements of Fire, Earth, Water, and Air," she said airily as the quill scribed her words. "These suits will be ruled by the 'Powers', composed of myself, Morthaur, you, and Morfuin."

The Magician nodded with a sense of confidence as he twirled the ringlets of his blond hair. "I am honored, M'Lady," he said. His talent for wielding Essence and his reputation for cruelty had earned him a high place on the Court. Ardana smiled at him and he returned the gaze.

_I see the lust in him…the lust for power. Valmorgûl must know that my heart is already given to the Dark Lord and he is a jealous lover._

Breaking eye contact, she continued, "Each suit will have a hold dedicated to its purpose. We now have many dedicated smiths and miners who could labor in the creation of these fortresses." The Lady turned to look out of one of the long windows from the Citadel. "Where is Morthaur? I sensed his return."

"Indeed, he awaits your summons, M'Lady."

Ardana drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, focusing her energy. Through the power of her mind, she mentally summoned Morthaur for the chamber. _I hope he has brought good news. I am anxious to hear if the Master has approved of me plan and the organization behind it. _

In a buzz of energy, Morthaur materialized behind his throne. His silver eyes shone brightly beneath his coal black hair, which matched his black robes, trimmed in silver. He bowed before Ardana. "Lady, I know you have been expecting me. I bring greetings from our master and excellent news," he said, taking a breath for dramatic purposes.

Ardana nodded, bidding him to continue. Morthaur took a moment to step around and sit upon his throne. He bore two sacks and laid them on the black table in the center of the room. Opening one, he removed several decks of cards. "The Master approves of your plan and took the time to create these decks for you. Their powers are awesome. There will be a deck for all our major members," he told her. "We will be able to channel power directly from the master."

Ardana was ecstatic and her face lit up like that of a little girl's. She silently gave praise to Morgoth - with his blessings she could not fail. Holding out her hand one of the decks flew to her grasp. She examined each of the 21 cards fashioned of a smooth white substance with a flat finish. The cards were large, but light and beautifully executed in color and detail. She withdrew the card with her likeness and gazed at it lovingly. She noted that it had the number 'III' on it and it was titled, 'The Lady.' Next to that card, she laid the number 'I', Valmorgûl the Magician, and the number 'IV', Morthaur, the Lord.

The Lord nodded his approval and opened the second sack, withdrewing the contents. Ardana looked up and the deck of cards that she had held so lovingly in her hands fell to the floor, scattering.

Morthaur smiled petulantly as he laid eight black crystals upon the table. "I knew these would get your attention," he said as he spread them out for her to see. Large, the size of a fist, they seemed to devour light. Ardana gasped, realizing what Morthaur had brought. They were gems, crafted by Fëanor himself. These were some of the gems that Morgoth had stolen from Formenos and fed to the demon Ungoliant. The gems had once been brilliant and spectacular, but now were warped. However, they still held great power.

As Ardana and Valmorgûl marveled, Morthaur continued, "The Dark Lord theorizes that these gems hold the power to destroy the Sun and Moon. However, the power of the gems must be released simultaneously while both orbs are together in the heavens. Also, there must be a sufficient catalyst to unleash the power of the gems."

He twirled one of the crystals in his hand and Ardana could sense a chill from them. Morthaur then looked her in the eye. "We consulted Morthrog the Seer, however, he was unable to divine a proper catalyst. We must make this knowledge our top priority," Morthaur informed her.

By now, Ardana's composure was gone. She rushed around the table and held the gems in her arms, weeping with unholy joy. "Truly, I hold the Dark Lord's favor."

With a wave of her hand, the scattered cards reassembled and floated to her hand. She gently placed them in a silken purse and tucked them in her sleeve. Then, she gathered the cursed stones and returned them to the sack. "Come, we must put our thought to this question of the catalyst. We will consult the heavens and the stars shall show us the way."

Valmorgûl went to a panel on the black wall and turned a switch. Eight pillars that flanked the room, along with the thrones and the table, began to float upward, disappearing into the ceiling. The iris at the apex of the ceiling then shut, closing off the light of the Moon and stars.

They walked together and down one level to the Council Lounge. Ardana stepped out onto plush blue carpet and sat in one of the luxurious chairs, made from Mallorn wood far to the North. A servant opened one of the glass cabinets and retrieved a bottle of spirits and poured several drinks. Ardana's goblet floated to her hand as Morthaur and Valmorgûl took their seats.

"What news from the North?" asked the Lady.

Morthaur's characteristically sullen expression returned, his face pinched up with his lip slightly curled. "The news is dire there, M'Lady. Fingolfin, the High King of the Noldor, continues to lay siege to the Dark Lord at Angband and our comings and goings there are fraught with danger. Since the Third Battle, the Dagor Aglareb, the Noldor hold the lands of Beleriand and our minions have been beaten and scattered by the fury of Fingolfin."

"Fingolfin…." Ardana mused out loud. "A mighty warrior…none could stand against his sword, not even Fëanor."

"Indeed…should Angband fall, Fingolfin would surely come here and gain the allegiance of the Three. All our work would be for naught."

The Lady fixed him with a piercing gaze and Morthaur shuddered. It was said that her eyes were unnerving, like black pools against her deathly pale skin as one could not differentiate the pupils from the irises. "Do not doubt the Dark Lord or our task. The Noldor's attention to the matters in Beleriand far to the North fills out purposes. We are free to do as we please here in the South."

Morthaur bowed contritely. "I meant no disrespect to the Dark Lord. I fulfill his purposes." He knew it would be useless to caution her on matters such as this. Her fanaticism for the task was without end.

"As do we all, My Lord. Do you not wish for these bright and offending orbs in the sky to be ruined so that the Elves may once again enjoy the stars unsullied?"

Morthaur raised an eyebrow. "I do indeed, M'Lady."

"Then we shall destroy the Sun and Moon that so obscures our beloved stars."

"So be it."

Ardana turned away and let the fire of her quest fill her heart. Her first patron, the Vala Varda, would thank her when her stars were the sole occupants of the heavens once more.

_They are only misguided,_ she thought. _Our master will show them the truth._

**Lesh-Y**

Deep in the subterranean hold of Ithilkir, the powerful demon, Lesh Y, passed his hand over the new forge he had created and a white flame burst forth. Standing over seven feet in height, he cut an intimidating figure. His golden eyes and red skin belied his otherworldly nature and his leopardskin kilt and bald pate lent him a savage appearance.

With a deep breath, he stepped back to admire his work. Within the hall, Elven smiths were bringing in tools and raw materials. The Noldorin smith, Laris, stood at his side, admiring the progress on the smithy, a great octagonal room for the forging of weapons. In the northwest sector, Dwarves assembled a hotforge for the working of metals. Mithril ingots were piled to the ceiling, awaiting a master's hand. In the northeast sector, a coldforge stood, ready to work the volcanic glass called Laen, which was harder than steel and could hold a razors edge. A tool area and another hotforge rounded out the smithy.

"There will be much work to do here, Laris," the demon said in his unearthly voice. "Deep in the jungles of this land we call Ardor; the mines have yielded much precious metal. The discovery Mithril here will give impetus to my requests to improve the site."

Laris watched as Elves and Dwarves worked together to install the equipment that would build their empire. "Rilia, the Mistress of Naurlindol, will make that decision, but I am confident that your logic will prevail. I am astounded that you were able to recruit Dwarves as well. They are notorious for their mistrust of others," the Elf said, speaking about the Children of Aulë the Smith.

The demon raised an eyebrow. "The Dwarves have a great love of forging and creating and were easily swayed by my demonstration of skill and promises of knowledge. Whatever their shortcomings, the Dwarves are hardy, enduring great suffering that would easily kill any Elf," he said with a smirk toward Laris.

The Elf grunted, but made no other display of emotion. "Well, they also have incredible skill at the forge, creating items of great beauty and power. They seem to take to Ithilkir readily, thriving in this underground environment."

And indeed, they would serve Lesh Y well. Soon the sound of hammer on metal would echo the halls for another fifty centuries.

**Rilia**

Miles to the South, work was progressing on Naurlindol, the Mountain of Fiery Pools. This was to be the fortress of Rilia and home to the Suit of Staves. It was a complex of tunnels and halls of dark grandeur situated on an active volcano contained by the magic of Rilia.

The Sorceress, as she was now called, stood, looking out over the flowing magma. She leaned onto the polished indigo stone of the window ledge, feeling the warmth of the inferno. The dancing glow of the fiery pits reflected off of her fair complexion. She was tall, standing at six feet and her tawny amber eyes shone beneath her dark red hair. Her red and orange robes were cut to look as though she were on fire, rippling as she moved.

The Mistress of Fire looked back to a lithe woman of Sindarin descent. "Play us a song, Linsûl."

The bard brushed back her wavy blonde locks and leaned against plush cushions to pick up her harp. Luxuries beyond imagining filled Rilia's chamber, but the Sindarin paid them no mind. Linsûl was originally one of the Arana people and had once served the Three. However, her dark side had been tapped by Rilia and the promise of power prevailed. Her enchanted songs were now used to deceive, delude, and even to kill.

Linsûl plucked the harp with graceful fingers, bringing the instrument to life. Beautiful, flowing tones echoed in the halls, a juxtaposition to the infernal setting. Fountains of lava shot up past the windows, scattering over the mystical shield that preserved the halls of Naurlindol.

"Magnificent, is it not," proclaimed the Mistress of Fire, proudly waving her hand at the fiery kingdom that she had created. "The knowledge that the Dark Lord has instilled me with has paid dividends."

Linsûl yawned. "You Noldor…always in a quest for power and knowledge. We Sindar know how to enjoy life and appreciate the wonders of nature." That was ever the burden of the Noldor, to seek knowledge and to master the things around them – it was the undoing of Fëanor, the mightiest of the Noldor.

Rilia snorted, turning her nose up in a characteristic display of aloofness. "Remind me why I keep you around."

"I'll let my harp answer that," the bard said with a seductive smile.

"One day, I may forget," the Sorceress said coldly in contrast to the raging fires beyond the window. She turned and her gray wooden staff flew to her hand. She strode across the deep carpet and her robes fluttered like the flames of the volcano outside. "Continue playing. I shall return soon."

Linsûl nodded, never missing a note.

Rilia departed the room, past two Elven guards. They bowed low before the Sorceress, but she merely waved her hand at them. She descended a wide staircase cast in orange glass until she arrived in rough-hewn tunnels, excavated by orc miners. Several of the beasts scrambled away at the sight of the Mistress.

_Pathetic beasts…why must I endure their company? I must secure some of those Dwarves from Lesh-Y. I hear that they are much more efficient…and cleaner. I do not know what the Dark Lord sees in these orcs beyond the fact that they are his creation._

Rilia turned her chin up as she strode past the fawning orcs and walked deeper into the inferno. A red glow danced off of the wall, but Rilia seemed immune to the heat. She boldly walked into a massive cavern filled with flowing lava. Choking vapors swirled about the cavern, but the Mistress of Fire was unfazed. She walked across a long, narrow, bridge to a central platform, cut in an octagonal pattern. Eight black stone columns rose up from a dias, surrounding a throne of black marble. Golden veins lined the throne, glowing with red light from the magma.

The Sorceress went to the throne and with a wave of her hand, a lever on the arm rest moved. "Do not be impatient, my Durclax. I know you desire my scent."

She crossed over another bridge and a massive metal door parted to let her pass. Down a short tunnel, her Durclax awaited – a horrible winged beast, part dragon, part lizard, it shrieked its delight at her approach. Razor sharp fangs filled its maw and its six-inch claws dug into the soft, volcanic soil. Rilia cooed and stroked Durclax's gray hide. She pulled a saddle from a rack and placed it lovingly over the creature's back. "Come, my friend, let us tour our domain."

An unearthly wail emanated from Durclax's throat and together, they took wing.

**Lesh-Y**

Over the next two hundred years the Court of Ardor was ceaseless in it's building of holds to dominate the region. One by one they arose: Aurax Dur, the Deepwater Darkness; Taurang, the Iron Tree; Tirgoroth, the Watch of Terror; Misigoroth, the Delving of Jewels; Angkirya, the Iron Mine; Menelcarca, the Fang of Heaven.

"Our raid went well. We achieved complete surprise," the captain of Lesh Y's troops declared. The Elf was arrayed in golden armor, much like that of the Noldor. He laid a bloody Arana banner at Lesh Y's feet on the white marble floor of the gallery. "Our losses were light and we have many captives," he continued.

The demon stood, towering over the captain, his red skin glistening in the enchanted light of the room. He picked up the banner and looked at it impassively.

"Excellent work. You and your troops have done well," he said.

"Thank you, Excellency. After all, I was once a soldier for Arana. I know their strategies and methods," the captain stated proudly.

Lesh Y nodded. "I am aware of that. How many captives do we have?"

"Thirty two. One of them is a group leader. What do you wish me to do with them, Excellency?" The captain asked.

"Take them to the chamber to await my presence."

"As you wish, Excellency," the captain said with a bow. He walked backward several steps and then departed through smoky glass doors, which parted magically at his approach.

The demon stroked the red skin of his face for a moment, thinking. Being a spirit of fire, he could not 'feel' in the same manner as the Elves. Emotion was such an alien thing. He could not understand the concepts of pain, fear, and terror. With amused detachment, he gathered his forging instruments – the tools of his trade were good for more than just forging…they were tools for extracting information.

He held his Mithril hammer in his massive hand and felt its weight. "It is equally effective in destroying as it is in creating…curious."

Tucking it into his leopardskin kilt, he marched off to his chambers.

**The Concern of the Three Grows**

**Fëatur**

In the hidden enclave of Ty-Ar-Rana, the Three gathered to discuss recent events in the area. In an underground reception hall, a heated debate took place.

"This is the fifth attack this month," Lyaan said gravely, the hem of his white robe gripped tightly in his hand. Lysa and Lyrin nodded quietly. Lyaan turned. "The raids have been very costly to our people - over one hundred killed and more than that missing. There were mostly undefended settlements, but most recently a military garrison. The raiders never left their casualties so it was difficult to assess their losses or origins.

"As we said a hundred years ago, this will not go away, Lyaan," Lysa stated.

Lyaan put his hand over hers, "I was a fool," he said. The others remained quiet. "Only a true fool learns not from his mistakes. I only hope my insult to Fëatur can be forgiven," he continued. Lysa gazed at him, smiling in understanding. He had come to a decision and his face was set. Lyaan then looked at Lyrin and nodded. Between the psychic link that the Three held, Lyrin instantly understood. Rising, Lyaan called to the attendant, "Send messengers out to find Fëatur and contact the Starseer Enclave. We need to meet."

Early next year, the three hundredth after the rising of the Sun, a meeting was held in Ty Ar­Rana. The Three along with the Starseer Enclave were in attendance there. Fëatur was also present, subdued, wearing his traditional black robes. Another group came also, known as the Guild of Elements.

The imposing leader of the Guild, Chrys Menelrana, introduced himself and his group. "I am kinsman to Finrod Felegund, now King of Nargothrond in the North." Standing nearly seven feet tall, Chrys was attired in a fabulous robe of red and yellow and his blond ringlets hung over his shoulders. At his hip was a sword with gold and mithril hilts. He pointed to a young man, next to him, who was surely a kinsman as well. "This is my son, Laurre."

"And here, we have the others of the Guild, Carnil Ravire, Talan, Ralian, and Elerior. These Elves are the best and brightest of the region."

Without standing, Fëatur spoke, transferring the attention to himself. "That's good," he said with a hint of mockery. "What do you plan to do with yourselves?"

Chrys took a step back and narrowed his eyes. He was clearly not used to such blunt speech. "You are… Fëatur I take it?"

"Indeed. Now, are we here to establish a plan of action or just talk?"

"The Guild was created to thwart Morgoth's plans in the South and is known for its ability to take action."

Fëatur finally stood and walked by the towering Chrys. "Then we shall have no problems, you and I."

They walked back to a meeting room through smoky laen doors that parted at their approach and Lyaan opened the meeting. Dressed in his white tunic and pants, he created an impressive sight. He raised his arms and lowered his head as he spoke, "Fellows, my shortsightedness has caused the urgent need for this meeting. I wish to express my deepest apologies to Fëatur, whose wisdom would have gone far in preventing this travesty. I ask you all now to come together and face this new threat. My people and I are all willing to commit maximum resources to this effort," he said earnestly. Fëatur remained expressionless while the rest nodded and murmured agreement.

Chrys rose to take the floor and Lyann sat. "We thank Lyaan for inviting us to this secret hold of Ty Ar Rana. The Guild understands the attacks that your people have endured. Can you say who is behind this?" he inquired.

Fëatur sighed, again drawing attention to himself. "You have something to say?" Chrys asked, somewhat irritably.

Fëatur rose slowly, looking at each person, a grave expression on his face. "This is obvious. I have been saying this for more than nearly two hundred years now…This is the work of Morgoth. How can you not see it?" Some looked at him skeptically and Fëatur took notice of these disbelievers.

"How do I know? I'll tell you. I was once a servant of Morgoth!" he yelled. The crowd gasped and Fëatur slammed his fist on the table for effect. "I followed the Dark One, believing his lies until I heard of the death of the Trees. It was then that I saw through his evil and gave my spirit up to the Valar. I begged Mandos to destroy me for what I had done, but I would not be released," he said, pain obvious on his face and his lips twisted in inner agony.

"To my dismay and redemption, I was sent back to defeat the plans of Morgoth in this region. My twin sister is still a part of his scheme and I know she is in the area. I also know that she is one of those responsible for the attacks."

A pregnant silence filled the room. After a long minute, Chrys spoke, "If what you say is true...That you were a servant of Morgoth and that your sister remains so, how can we then trust you?"

Lyaan rose and raised his hand as a vote of confidence for Fëatur. "We can trust him. He has my support." Lysa and Lyrin nodded solemnly in agreement. Lyaan continued, "I propose we form an alliance. The Starseer Enclave's support would go a long way in divining the purpose behind these attacks and the plans of the enemy. The Guild is known for its military prowess and can teach our people to better defend themselves. Fëatur's understanding and dedication can better lead us to overcome the enemy. How say you all?"

Universally, there was agreement, except for Fëatur, who remained motionless. Chrys looked at him in confusion, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. "You _disagree_? I thought this is what you had been working for?"

"I agree with all except for _me_ leading anything. For my crimes, I have _no_ right to lead anyone. I will join, but only as a follower," he said.

Lyaan looked over at him, observing him with new respect. "Very well. So, it is done. I propose we call ourselves the Luingon Alliance." Again, agreement was universal. Chrys drew his sword and held it above his head. "I give my oath to uphold and defend this alliance. As a token of faith, the Guild will remain here for awhile to fight and train the Arana People." The Starseers also affirmed the oath and would return home to ascertain the motives of the enemy. When the group began to break up and depart, no had noticed that Fëatur had not taken an oath, having already been bound by a higher promise.


	5. The Coming of Men

**The Coming of Men**

**Chrys Menelrana**

Within a few years of the forming of the Alliance, new arrivals began to appear in the South. Men, the Second born of Eru, were markedly different from the Elves in so many ways.

The Noldor lord, Chrys Menelrana towered over the men that had joined the Alliance. He and his son, Laurre, welcomed them and imparted knowledge and Elven culture to their peoples.

"What do you think of the humans, father?" asked Laurre in the Quenya, the speech of the Noldor.

"I do not understand the wisdom of Eru, my son. He made them somewhat shorter and much stockier than the Elves and they fall short of the unearthly beauty of the Eldar. They, like the Dwarves, have finite life spans, only much shorter. Why give life to a race unless you mean it to live a long time and free of illness?"

Laurre pondered on this for a moment. "Surely, they have some redeeming qualities?"

Chrys sighed. "I can't see what they are. In our training, they are much more susceptible to injury and unlike the Elves, suffer from sickness and disease. This makes them much less valuable in battle. Nor can they see at night and are less magically adept than the Eldar. I sometimes wonder how they could survive at all."

The younger Menelrana would not be deterred. "But father, our kinsman, Finrod Felegund values their friendship and often lives amongst them. Surely, he sees the wisdom of Eru."

"Perhaps…. Finrod was ever the more discerning of the family."

Laurre's face brightened as an idea came to him. "One difference that I've noticed with the humans is that, with so little time on Eä, they foster a tremendous sense of urgency, which we seem to lack. Things always have to be done 'now'. Whereas, with the Eldar, tomorrow is always fine. After all, if you never grew old, why rush?"

Chrys chuckled and patted his son on the back. "You have a funny way of looking at things, son. You always bring a fresh perspective to our conversations."

The young Elf nodded, but he was clearly focused on the training field where Carnil Ravire and Talan were training the men. The two members of the Guild were known to be awesome fighters, just slightly less in skill than Chrys. Carnil held an Elven longbow and shot white-fletched arrows into a target more than a hundred yards away. "He is truly the finest of archers, father."

The edge of Chrys' mouth turned up in a half smile and he knew what his son wanted. "Go and join them, my son."

Laurre's face lit up and he dashed off toward the training field with his sword and bow in hand.

Chrys' eyes then drifted to some faraway place and he saw the peace and tranquility of Valinor in his mind. He took a deep, happy breath as the image brought forth feelings that were now, only memories. _Was the sacrifice of eternal peace worth it? _

Then, images of chaos that ensued after the death of Finwë came to him and he saw the dead king's eldest son, Fëanor, gather the Noldor to leave Valinor. The great smith cursed the Valar and swore vengeance on Morgoth. He led them to the Havens of Alqualondë, where their brethren, the Teleri Elves lived.

Fëanor slew many of the Teleri and stole their ships. In their escape, the seas rose against the Noldor and some of the ships were wrecked. Chrys could now see the dead Teleri Elves in his mind, hacked and butchered by the mad wrath of Fëanor.

_We slew our own kin. We are cursed. I fear my son will need these skills to fight ere long._

This time, Chrys took a darker breath as he watched Talan show the boy how to wield a sword. The elder Elf bobbed and weaved past the boy's broad strokes and then he seemed to blur with a flurry of mock strikes. Laurre appeared lost, lowering his guard while looking for a target to attack. With a loud _clang_ Talan's blade struck Laurre's sword from his hands and it fell into the soft grass.

"You must never lower your guard," Talan said, chastising him. The great warrior removed his elegant helmet of greenish gold and his black hair tumbled over his shoulders.

Laurre looked back at his father. _He hopes that I come to save him. He will need to learn to stand on his own._

Chrys merely smiled and turned away. Nearby, he observed the two other Guild members, practicing the magical arts. The Elf lord took a last look back to his son, who was swinging fiercely at Talan, and then walked over to the gathering. Ralian and Elerior, two Noldor lords, were demonstrating the use of Essence and Mentalism to the humans.

Sparks of electricity swirled around Ralian as he waved his hands. The men gasped in awe at the display, but Elerior stepped forward and focused his mind. With a thought, he lifted a dozen men in the air. The crowd's collective eyes widened with wonder at the power of the Elf lords.

"Try not to hurt anyone," commented Chrys as he approached the crowd. He looked at the men gathered there to learn from the powerful Elves. The men were of the Kirani people and were tall and dark of skin with dark hair. Their faces were filled with reverence and an eagerness to absorb knowledge.

_Much like the Noldor_, thought Chrys.

Ralian, in his maroon robes, nodded with a smile at his lord. "We haven't injured anyone yet."

"The day is still young."

Chrys waved his hand. "Pray, please continue."

The mage bowed and raised his finger, where a small flame burst forth. "Essence is the foundation for everything around us. To wield it, you must tap into the force that is within all things and all elements – earth, fire, water, air…you must let these things flow through you in order to command them."

Elerior moved forward. "And the power of the mind is equally as potent. Discipline and concentration are the keys to Mentalism," he said and then vanished. The crowd gasped and looked around. Elerior's voice continued to emanate from the same location. "I am still here, but the power of my mind has convinced you that I am gone."

Chrys threw a small stone to where the voice was and it struck an invisible object.

"Ow," the Mentalist said and reappeared, rubbing his head. "That's not fair."

"War is seldom fair, my friend," Chrys said. "Teach these people well."

Along with the Guild, the Elves of Arana befriended the newcomers and helped them to establish a kingdom in the land of Geshaan in Northern Ardor. The men learned quickly and came to know the worship of Eru, the creator. A fair city known as Gavan soon developed and trade thrived in the land. However, the darkness and malice of Morgoth was never far away and soon, a confrontation would happen.

**The Keep of the Guild of Elements**

**Fëatur**

On a hill, dominating the countryside, a tall spire sat, constructed entirely of the fabulous glassy material called Laen. The keep was multi-colored, signifying the union of the elements in this place. A long, well paved road led up to the spike past tended gardens and orchards. Bright flowers greeted travelers to usher them into an Elven kingdom that rivaled any in Beleriand.

The Mentalist Elf, Fëatur looked out from a window, high up in the keep. His characteristic black robes fluttered in the wind as it howled through the opening, mirroring his cold feelings. His thoughts turned to his sister, far away and the betrayal that they had wrought upon the world.

He grit his teeth, straddling the fence between love and hate for her and he could see her pouty, petulant face beneath layered blonde hair. He turned his thoughts to Eru and prayed for guidance, clasping his hands before his sad eyes. A thought came to him through the ether and he knew what his path would have to be.

He would have to kill her. He would have to slay another kin.

**A Kirani Village**

**Chrys Menelrana**

As evening approached, the village looked quiet and unguarded. A wooden palisade surrounded stone buildings and houses, but there were no towers and few guards.

"This will be another easy victory," whispered the captain of Ithilkir as he motioned his orc troops around both sides of the village in the growing darkness. He held his three trolls in reserve along with the six elves that rounded out his force. As always, he would surround the village cutting off escape. He pointed to his Elven troops. "You will fire flaming arrows into the wooden structures to create panic. The orcs will then wade in hacking down resistance and completing the rout. I want to make sure that we have captives to interrogate. Lesh-Y has commanded it."

He had been raiding for more than five years now and the Arana, or their human allies, still had not learned any real lessons. Resistance had stiffened somewhat recently, but this village would be easy pickings.

Within minutes, one hundred orcs were in position around the seven buildings. The captain looked back at his Elves. "The Orcs are undisciplined and unreliable when facing a determined foe, but with surprise and when facing these peasants they prove more than a match."

On his signal, the elves drew their bows and lit the heads of their arrows, which had been soaked in flammable oil. They launched them into several of the buildings, which instantly caught fire, letting up a pillar of smoke. The captain signaled the order for the orcs to advance.

Snarling and shrieking, the orcs charged and battered down the wooden palisade. They barreled through the gap in the defense and kicked open doors. "Quickly, get inside!" the captain ordered and they rushed into the buildings. After a minute they reemerged, seemingly confused.

The orc sergeant shrugged and barked in his vile tongue, "There's no one here! The village is empty."

The captain rose from cover and furrowed his brows. "What? What are you talking about?" he yelled back. His question was answered as an arrow sunk through his chainmail into his chest.

In the next few seconds a dozen orcs were down, struck by arrows. Most lay dead, but several writhed in agony from their wounds. The Elves of Ithilkir looked around in shock trying to find a target for their bows. Without direction, the trolls charged into the village hoping to find something to kill. Their bellows filled the evening air like horns.

Meanwhile, the orcs stood around the buildings in confusion, milling about. Moments later, a wall of spearmen surged forward led by a golden haired Elf wielding a sword. The Elves crashed into the mob skewering many of them on the silver points of their spears.

The Elves of Ithilkir fired several shots at their attackers, dropping a few spearmen. This did not slow the onslaught however, as the, Chrys, the golden haired Elf, hacked his way through the orcs and slew them in twos and threes. Chrys pointed to his son, Laurre, who was with the wall of spears. "Press the Orcs on the flank. They're breaking!"

Laurre nodded and then turned to the spears. "Wheel right! Take them in the flank!" he ordered and Talan blew a blast with his horn to signal the maneuver. In several moments, the spearmen were pressing the orcs on several sides and the situation was deteriorating rapidly.

Seeing the rout, one on the Ithilkir bowman declared, "We must retreat. Grab the captain and let us make haste." From a distance, Chrys saw another bowman directing the trolls at his men and the remainder stooped to pick up the wounded captain.

A long-feathered shaft protruded from the captain's chest and he coughed up thick globs of blood. "What do you think you're doing?" he gasped, but they ignored his pleas and dragged him off the field.

Chrys saw the massive, bloated trolls charging into the fray. "Bring them down, Carnil!" and the Elven archer released a shaft that flew into a troll's side, burying itself up to the quills. Another arrow sank deep and the troll howled before collapsing on some orcs.

Chrys Menelrana had cloven his fifteenth orc shoulder to belly. Its black blood dribbled down his blade and he kicked it away just in time to see six Ithilkir Elves in the woods dragging their wounded leader away. _I must capture the leader._

One of the elves looked back and gave a command to three trolls entering the fray. Finding their prey, the trolls turned and charged Chrys. Their massive bloated forms towered over the Elf lord and their strength was as ten men. The first ran at him with an enormous, bladed spear, thrusting at him. Nimble Chrys sidestepped and clove the spear at the head with one stroke. Shrieking, the troll hurled its bulk at him hoping to bash him to the ground. With great effort, Chrys ducked under the walking mountain and then looked up to see the second beast ready to swat him with a spiked mace. _By the Valar, they're strong, but not too bright._ Two of Carnil's arrows slammed into the second troll's chest and Chrys moved right, slicing the troll's belly open with the razor edge of his sword. Its guts spilled out onto the grass as it collapsed forward. The third troll shuddered as two arrows sunk into its back. Unperturbed, it rushed forward and hammered Chrys' shield with the enormous mace.

The Elf lord flew backward and crashed on the ground. In a haze of pain, he saw the foot of the first troll coming down on his head and he rolled away as the ground was smashed where he lay.

He staggered back up and could see Talan leaping onto one troll, driving his sword's point into its chest. The other troll suddenly seemed dazed and began swatting at unseen enemies. "Elerior, many thanks," Chrys said as he slashed the troll along its meaty leg.

Nearby, the Mentalist poured on the psychic energy and the troll howled in pain, black blood oozing down its ears and from its nose. It flailed around helplessly until a bolt of lightning sizzled into its head. Smoke rising from its body, the troll fell to its knees and Chrys drove his sword into it throat.

As the troll fell forward, dead, Ralian came up to stand by his leader. "No need to thank me," he said with a wry smirk.

Chrys chuckled briefly before he took a breath and surveyed the battlefield. "Damn, the enemy captain escaped. I have no doubt we'll see them again."


	6. The Birth of Darkness

W/N - Big thanks to Thug and Jill. We introduce more members of the Court and add a little dark side smut so be forewarned. I'm trying to portray Ardana as evil but sympathetic with complex motivations and feelings. I also deviated from the canon of this game by switching the twins. I thought that a Middle Earth lacked female heroes so I'm taking a little poetic license.

**Darkness is Born**

**The Hold of Aurax-Dûr (The Deepwater Darkness) – The First Age of Middle Earth during the Siege of Angband**

**Camring the Healer**

Deep within a rocky outcrop in the southern part of Middle Earth, a fortress lay deep underground, surrounded entirely by water. The cavern was named Morlin, the Darkpool, by the Sindarin Elves and could only be accessed b a grotto with a hidden tunnel into the cliffs. Phosphorescent mosses coated the walls along the inside of the cavern, giving the whole area an eerie blue-green hue that bathed the citadel in dim light. In addition to the sea entrance, a causeway led to the far end of the cave and from there, to the surface.

Aurax-Dûr was the private realm of Gorthaur, a Noldor lord in the service of Ardana the Lady. He is her High Priest, a channeler of Morgoth's immense power to terrify and incite war. He is called the High Priest, appearing in the darkness and calling storms and lightning.

Gorthaur stood atop the tower of his beloved citadel, soaking in the dim blue-green light of the cavern, his deep blue robes looking almost black in the shadows. He was very tall, standing over six and a half feet in height with dark brown hair, coiffed in a bowl cut. He was tanned despite his love of darkness, which matched his cold, dispassionate demeanor. Even his eyes were blue-green, matching the interior of his favorite place.

The Noldor moved silently to a multi-faceted crystal that was mounted on a pedestal of blue laen and he peered into the hues of blue and green that shimmered from the sphere. From a pocket in his robe, he produced a card with the likeness of Ardana and the image came to life. He began to speak, but from the side of the chamber, another Elf emerged, dressed in a white wrapping tunic. He was shorter than Gorthaur, but muscular where the High Priest was thin. His brown eyes held a veil of anger that vanished as he looked to his master.

"High Priest," the Elf said, trying to hide his emotions. "I must treat your mistress. She is…grievously hurt."

Gorthaur waved his hand dismissively, showing red bruises on his knuckles. "Not now, Camring. I am receiving a message from Ardana. It seems that our master in the North has destroyed the Siege of Angband and slain many of the Noldor. The fires of Thangorodrim burn hot for our enemies."

Camring looked away. "Yes, High Priest. That is good news."

"And Morgoth will rout the enemy. He sends his Balrogs forth. It will all be over soon and we can complete our conquest of the South."

The Healer nodded silently, appearing to be less than enthusiastic. In contrast, Gorthaur was ebullient, his face aglow with joy at the news of the demise of his kin. On the card, the image of Ardana smiled as she spoke telepathically, telling the Priest more good news. "The Lady tells me that Fingolfin, the High King of the Noldor, fell to the mighty hammer of the Master. This is good news indeed. She will be traveling to Angband to celebrate and to hear the latest update of our plan," he said.

Again, Camring said nothing, but fidgeted, feeling the need to be elsewhere.

"I sense that something big is coming, Camring. I can feel it. My connection with the Master is stronger than ever. I can sense his grand thoughts…his unstoppable power," he said as he probed the universe for snippets of the Dark Lord's mind. Then, a wave of pain struck him and he winced, curling his arms and hands in agony. "Arrgh! There is something else," he said in a panting wheeze. "The Master…I can see it…wounded by Fingolfin and scarred by the claws of the eagle. How could a mere Elf inflict such pain on a Vala? The Master is invincible."

Camring raised an eyebrow. "Fingolfin was a mighty Elf, blessed by the power of Valinor."

Gorthaur seemed to shrink, his earlier confidence withering like a dead vine. His face darkened with his mood and he looked about frantically as if the army of the Noldor would come through his door. In a weak and tremulous voice, he said, "Camring, tell Taurion and Vallin to double the guard. I don't want anyone sneaking up on me."

With a dutiful nod, Camring spoke, "I shall inform the Lord and Knight of Helms of your wishes." The Healer bowed and withdrew across the plush blue-green carpet. He thought for a moment of going to the guard tower to speak to Taurion, a Silvan Elf, who was a powerful priest in his own right. However, there was someone else who required his attention and he slipped into a side room.

The room was magnificent, paneled and carpeted in blues and greens, Gorthaur's favorite colors. A vanity, crafted of priceless Dyr Wood, dominated the room. A broken mirror was mounted above the vanity, a testament to some recent violence. From beyond, Camring heard a woman's sobs and he rushed through a door into a bedroom. There, an Elven woman with ebony hair sat crumpled at the foot of the bed, her wrists raw and red. She lifted her head to show Camring a dark welt on her cheek and a black eye.

"Isil," he said, trying to hold back his anger. "How many times is this now?"

The woman reached out and wrapped her arms around his legs. "No, Camring…this was my fault. I provoked the High Priest. It's my fault."

Camring snorted, torn between pity and disgust. "It's _always_ your fault. Here, let me tend to your injuries. The High Priest will want you looking pretty again by evening." He knelt and searched his healer's bag for medicines. He held Isil's face, examining her bruises and then rubbed a red salve into her damaged flesh. He then focused his energy, channeling the healing powers of the universe and let them flow into her body. Isil inhaled deeply as the warming power entered her and she yawned. "Do not worry, Isil. My healing will make you sleepy. Rest yourself, I'm sure we will be doing this again tomorrow."

Isil climbed into bed drowsily and planted her head on a down pillow, covered in the finest silk. "You are so understanding, Camring," she said with another yawn. "I don't know what I'd do without you…. You are a true friend."

As she dozed off, Camring stood for a moment, biting his lip. He looked down at her form with both admiration and confusion. He loved her, but he could not understand her. Then, he shook his head. "It is nothing more than a false dream. She is the High Priest's consort and that is that."

He looked out of a window onto the dark lake, watching the blue-green light reflect off of the ripples in the water. He wondered what brought him to this dark place underground and he remembered the light of the Two Trees that had shone for so long. All there was for him now was obedience to Ardana's awesome charisma and her single-minded goal of returning the world to the light of the stars.

**Tirgoroth (The Watch of Terror)**

**Valkrist the Lord of Arms**

Atop a half-mile high sheer spire of stone, rising from the middle of a bay, sat a small keep of white marble that was enshrouded in thick clouds. The gold leaf shingles of the tops of four towers could just be seen, jutting out from the fluffy, white masses of condensation. A casual observer would easily make the mistake in thinking that the keep floated among the clouds.

Two massive falcons floated above the keep, their wings spread to catch the wind. On the backs of the giant birds, rode a warrior…a Windlord as they were called. The lead warrior was a giant of an Elf, massively muscled with bright, blue eyes and curly brown hair. His hard, square features were ruddy from the chill, contrasting his sky blue surcoat over mithril plate armor. The image of a sword, piercing a cloud on a diamond-shaped field was stitched into his surcoat, identifying him as part of the Suit of Swords of the Court of Ardor. The other Elf was smaller, but no less muscular, with sandy blond hair cut to shoulder length. He wore a matching surcoat over mithril chainmail, bright in the bright sun.

"Valkrist," called the smaller Elf. "Let us return. The falcons are hungry."

Valkrist raised his goggles and pointed down toward Tirgoroth. "Indeed. It is time to check in with Ardana. She has met with the Master and will reveal her plan. I should like to return to the offensive. We have done nothing but patrol and watch for years. I'm sure the Luingon Alliance has grown soft and fat without us to pillage their towns and burn their fields."

The other rider, Sûlherok, the Messenger, pressed his knees into the falcon to guide it downward. "We must trust in the Lady. I'm sure she has a grander scheme in mind through the Master."

The Lord of Arms nodded and guided his bird down toward the landing platform as well. Through his Lord Falcon Ring, the stead could sense his thoughts and respond to his mental commands. Valkrist was a recent addition to the Court and was a half Elf, born of the union between a mannish father and Noldorin mother. With his sire long dead from age, he wandered in a company of explorers until his physical prowess was noted by Ardana and he was recruited to the cause.

With great precision, the two riders landed their falcons on the platform, that stuck out like a marble tongue from a sheer wall on the side of the keep. Grooms approached and Valkrist handed the reins to them as he dismounted. The Lord towered over the others, his broad shoulders dwarfing them. Straightening his diaphanous surcoat, he walked into the keep followed by Sûlherok, where they were greeted by two other Windlords, Teris and Lars, Sindarin Elves.

The Lord of Arms walked with them to the inner courtyard and thence to his hexagonal tower, where he would convene with his staff and commune with Ardana. He listened patiently as his Windlords discussed the mundane aspects of running a castle for the Dark Lord – feed for the birds, managing the livestock, grounds keeping, and the most hated to Valkrist…the budget.

Although these things bored him, he attended to the details without ever losing his temper, which made him popular with his force. He had also never been defeated in single combat, even by the dreaded and sadistic Cambragol, which only served to heighten his aura. As he reached the top of the tower with his entourage, a male and two female Elves bowed to him.

"Suldun, thank you for coming," Valkrist said with a cordial nod to the Lord of Swords, his Captain of the Guard. Suldun was a Noldor, dressed in the same attire as his master. Valkrist then nodded to Elendor and Vairesul, the Lady and Herald of Swords.

With a dignified air, the Lord strode across the room, his boots clicking on the marble tile and the breeze ruffled his magical surcoat, which shifted colors as it flapped about his body. He raised his hand and his lords and ladies took their seats with the exception of the Sindarin Vairesul, who approached him, bearing a sheathed two-handed sword of amazing size.

She knelt before the Lord of Arms and presented the weapon. "Your weapon, M'Lord, the Sword of Ilkaran."

He looked down at the lean, pretty Elf and took the sword in one hand. With his other hand, he drew the blade, which was translucent, made of clear laen glass. As the sword cleared the scabbard, frost coated its length, hinting at its arcane power.

He held the blade upward before his face and uttered a blessing from Morgoth. "By the strength of my arm and the power of this sword, we shall bring peace and order to Middle Earth."

The assemble Elves raised their fists as one.

Valkrist sheathed the weapon and handed it back to Vairesul, who returned to her seat. The Lord then produced the Ardan Card Deck and laid the cards on the white table. He selected the one with Ardana's image and the card shimmered, bringing her picture to life.

Valkrist bowed as did the assembly. "Lady, some years have passed since you left for Angband. We patiently await your return and your instructions."

Her face was a blank slate with her black eyes as orbs, seeing into the void. Her long, black hair hung about her shoulders, neatly brushed. "Faithful Valkrist, it is necessary for me to remain with the Master a while longer. There has been both good tidings and bad," she said in her solemn, ethereal voice."

He nodded, awaiting her words.

"I always prefer good news last, so I shall share the bad first. A…man," she began, turning her nose up in disdain, "stole one of the Silmirils from the crown of the Master, scarring him with great pain." This elicited gasps of horror from the crowd. "Do not fret overmuch, however, this Beren fellow paid dearly for his act and the great Finrod Felagund was slain as well. Lastly, and greatest of all, the Union of Maedhros was overthrown and the forces of the Noldor routed in the greatest battle of Middle Earth," she said, her voice rising only a little to show her excitement.

A faint smile escaped Valkrist's lips. "I should have liked to have been there. I would dearly love to match swords with Fingon."

"You will not have to. He was slain by Gothmog, ground into the mud like a worm," she said, describing the death of the greatest of Noldor Elves still in Middle Earth as if he were vermin.

"I fear that this war will be over before I can prove my worth."

Ardana cocked her head to one side. "Do not fear, Valkrist, you may resume your raiding of the lands of our enemies. Push hard and keep them off balance for the time grows near for the fruition of our hopes."

Valkrist nodded impassively, but he was bursting inside. "It shall be my pleasure. The Windlords have grown restless as of late." With that, Ardana's card grew cold and her image became still again. The Lord of Arms turned to his people. "Prepare for war."

**Angband – a Short Time in the Past**

**Ardana**

The Lady awoke to a terrible cry of pain that tore the heavens and shook the halls of the cursed keep of Angband. She shook her head, trying to focus, trying to cast off the powerful affect of Lúthien's song that had caused all of the minions of Morgoth to slumber. She blinked hard and the howl of agony drowned her senses, threatening to shatter her mind.

"The Master!" she screamed as she rushed over to the giant figure, who was shrouded in black steam that vented from his rage. She saw that his once fair face was twisted and marred by Beren's dagger, Angrist. Old wounds from the eagles also left jagged scars on his features. His fists were balled as he thrashed about and he pounded on his iron throne, smashing the metal as if it were clay.

Amid the chaos, Ardana saw orcs and goblins writhing on the stone floor, senseless under the screams of their master while the monstrous wolf, Carcharoth, bounded toward the great gates in pursuit of Beren and Lúthien. The wicked beast's unearthly howl resonated in the corridors, causing Ardana's flesh to crawl.

As the horror disappeared from view, Ardana's eyes were drawn upward to Morgoth's iron crown and she gasped – one of the Silmarils was gone. "Master, let me tend to your wounds. I shall call upon the stars to heal you," she said as she climbed up upon his leg, letting the evil mist surround her. At first, she felt repulsed by the foulness of its smell and taste, but as she drew closer to the Dark Lord, she embraced its power.

Thick, vile blood ran down Morgoth's mottled, tainted skin and Ardana sopped it up with her gossamer robe, letting it soak her clothing. She kissed his wounded brow and opened herself up as a conduit, channeling power to seal the gash. In Morgoth's corruption, he had lost the ability to heal himself as his powers could now only destroy.

Ardana could now feel the pulse of the Vala's power and she reveled in dark might. It was as if she were a living volcano, untamed and unlimited by earthly constraints. She could see into the mind of a god and her heart soared into the heavens like a bird.

"The Master," a voice called, breaking the spell. "He is hurt."

Ardana fell back, breathless into the Dark Lord's lap like a child, her mind reeling from the taste of infinite power. She looked down at Morthrog, the Master's seer and an expression of irritation washed over her, her eyes narrowed and piercing. "You have a penchant for the obvious, Seer."

At this, Morgoth stirred. In his unearthly voice, he spoke, "The fools will continue to plague us unless we destroy them once and for all. Ardana, the time draws near for you to complete your quest. The gems I gave you…the ones crafted by Fëanor, will devour the Sun and Moon with the unleashing of their power. However, we must both sacrifice."

Ardana looked up into the black pools that were Morgoth's eyes with loving devotion. "What must we sacrifice, Lord?"

A sinister grin crossed his lips, which had been torn by the claws of eagles. "Only the sacrifice of the blood of a Vala will create the catalyst that we seek."

The Lady's eyes narrowed in confusion. "But-but Master, surely you cannot sacrifice yourself? We would be lost."

"Not me…. Our offspring…the fruit of our union."

A mixture of horror and delight filled Ardana.

Time passed as the Lady and the Seer perfected the Ritual of the Fall of the Lights and a time was selected nearly a hundred years in the future when there would be an eclipse over the Citadel of Ardor. Ardana sent tidings to her lords – Morthaur, the Lord; Valmorgûl, the Magician; Morfuin, the Lord Demon; Rilia, the Sorceress; Gorthaur, the High Priest; and Valkrist, the Lord of Arms.

The time approached in which she would bond with the Dark Lord and produce a dark heir to Morgoth's legacy, who would be sacrificed to unleash the power of the gems. Ardana fretted like a bride, her dark heart filling with dread and anticipation. On the night that had been chosen by Morthrog, Morgoth came as an angry spirit and flew into Ardana's chamber ahead of an ethereal storm or power. A black mist hovered before her and cast aside her robes, revealing her pale flesh. Steamy tendrils of vapor surrounded the Lady, caressing her skin and arousing her senses. She responded, feeling parts of her body moisten to prepare for her master's bidding.

Fear and lust surged into her at the same time as the darkness entered her and she threw her head back as her lips parted. Coils of evil power curled around her naked body, gliding and slithering like snakes until she cried out in ecstasy.

The deed was done. The dark seed had been planted.

**The Citadel of Ardor – Nine Months Later**

**Yavëkamba of the House of Orbs**

Screams of pain rang out from Ardana's bedchamber, bringing Yavëkamba, the surgeon of the Court, running. The surgeon was tall and slender with long, black hair swept back in the custom of the Noldor. She bent over Ardana's swollen belly and placed her gold pendant on the distended skin, listening through the enchanted jewel.

"I hear two heartbeats," Yavëkamba said with cool detachment.

Perspiration poured down Ardana's face, soaking her linens and sheets. "Two? That was not part of the Master's plan. How can that be?"

"That is not my concern, Lady. My only care is to deliver them," she said as she reached into her blue robes and removed a potion. "Drink this. It will give you strength through the procedure."

Ardana drank the elixir greedily and gained energy for the arduous task ahead. The surgeon held up her hand, displaying a mithril ring with a finely-cut emerald. "This will dull the pain," she said, but the Lady shook her head.

"I must endure the pain…I must feel the life that I will take. Only then will the ritual be pure," Ardana said as she winced.

"Very well. I suggest then that you push."

Quickly, a head appeared, followed by the rest of an infant. "It's a boy," Yavëkamba stated. She handed the baby to a nursemaid as it began to wail. The surgeon returned her attention to another head that was emerging. As Yavëkamba guided the infant out, she raised an eyebrow. "It's a girl…but she's dead."

"Dead? I thought you said that there were two heartbeats," Ardana said amid her grunting and panting.

"It must be fate," Yavëkamba said dispassionately.

The Lady choked as emotion welled up inside her. "Let me see my children…please."

The surgeon nodded to the nursemaid and the boy was given to Ardana. The Lady cradled the newborn, letting him suckle. She took the dead child too and held it in her other arm. Tears streamed down her face as she rocked the two babies.

"I will name you Moran and Morelen," Ardana cooed to her children, knowing that she would have to kill the boy before long.

Yavëkamba gently took the girl back as Morthrog entered the chamber.

"The Master is pleased," he said, looking down at the infant boy in Ardana's grasp. I also come to reveal to you a dream that I had. I am unable to divine its meaning, but perhaps it will make sense to you…."

He took a deep breath, drawing everyone's attention.

"Night and Day, boy and girl,  
Two children and a shadowed fate,  
He shall die, short life to enjoy  
She will her mother slay, 'ere too late,  
'fore night falls again…."

Yavëkamba stood, holding the dead girl. "Nonsense. Moran is alive and it is Morelen, who has died," she said with cool disdain. "You seers are like weather diviners. I have more important business than to listen to random prophecies. Good day," she said and then bowed the Lady. "I shall…bury Morelen with respect. I will check in on you later."

With that, the surgeon departed and stole down a secret stair deep into the ground where she saw a figure in the shadows. "Fëatur?" she said tentatively.

He nodded and stepped closer. "Were you followed?"

"No. But I must return quickly," she said with a nervous edge in her voice. She held up the child and blew a breath on the infant's face. Immediately, she baby began to wail. Yavëkamba quickly handed Morelen to her contact. "Goodbye, my sweet," she said in a loving tone. "Keep her safe, Fëatur," she said and gave him a hurried kiss.

He returned a grim smile. I will send her north. Turgon in Gondolin will hide her. None will find her in the hidden city…not even Morgoth."


	7. The Field of Tumhalad

Many thanks to Thug, Homer, and Jill. We're going to try and look deeper at the Guild. There is dissention in the ranks and a bit of intrigue, which I hope to expand on. Who will you be able to trust here?

**The Guild of Elements**

**Chrys Menelrana**

"I don't think that is such a good idea," Chrys said to Fëatur, who was obviously irritated by the comment.

Turning away, Fëatur raised an eyebrow in disdain. "Why not? It would be the prudent thing to do." He leaned heavily on the railings of the balcony of the Guild Tower, overlooking the fertile lands below. Fëatur had been somewhat of a sore spot for Chrys, always being contrary and often acting entirely on his own. His obsessive love for wearing black didn't engender much love either.

The Noldor king sighed, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "Well, first off, traveling alone with a month-old infant is not as easy as you would think. Do you know the first thing about children?" he asked, not really caring for the baby's welfare, but instead, wanting to needle Fëatur.

Fëatur didn't bother to face him. "That is unimportant. We _must _get her away from Ardor. The Seer will sense her."

Chrys looked to Talan, the warrior Elf, and rolled his eyes. "And the Dark Lord won't? Might I remind you that you will be taking her closer to Morgoth or have you forgotten that Angand is that way?"

Now, Fëatur looked over. Tension rippled along his jaw and he was holding back his feelings like a dam. He inhaled slowly and spoke slowly to control his words, "I served the Dark Lord…for many years. I know his mind. He will focus all of his attention on finding the Silmiril. Turgon's fortress is hidden."

"Gondolin?" Talan asked, in reference to King Turgon's wondrous city, that was concealed in the Vale of Tumladen and encircled by the Echoriath, a range of mountains. "How do you propose to enter?"

"Let's just say that…I have pull with certain powers."

Elerior, the wielder of Mentalism, searched the mind of the rogue Elf and saw that his intentions were good. "Lord Menelrana, I sense that Fëatur has a plan in mind. Perhaps we should allow him to continue."

Chrys didn't like what he was hearing. "Perhaps Fëatur could have shared his plan with us prior to bringing that hell-spawned child in our midst. What is so important about her anyway?"

Fëatur chuckled sarcastically. "So, this is all about you not being kept in the know? My source gave my information, I saw the opportunity to further our cause, and I took it. Otherwise, we'd _still_ be debating whether or not to even stage the rescue…all the while, Ardana would grow in power. The bureaucracy that we've created seems to serve the enemy's purpose, not our own."

"Might I remind you," said Elerior, "That you chose to join the alliance, but not to lead us. Though I trust your instincts and your experience, you are bound by the same oaths that we all took."

"Indeed," Fëatur said, now thoughtful. "I am not known to be a person of my word, but everyone deserves a second chance. I would ask you to trust in my judgement in that I need to take Morelen from here. Her mere presence in Ardor jeopardizes our cause. If she were reunited with her brother and trained by Ardana in the dark arts, we would be hard pressed."

Chrys' expression softened at Fëatur's conciliatory tone. "I see your point. However, why not go to Nargothrond, the fortress of my kinsman, Orodreth?"

Fëatur looked into Chrys' eyes for impact. "To be honest, nowhere is safe, but take no offense when I say that Orodreth lacks the wisdom of his brother, Finrod. I have heard talk of a man named Túrin, a great warrior, but also lacking in wisdom. My sources say that he is planning a direct assault against the Dark Lord. Foolishness…nothing but foolishness."

"There has to be a stand at some point," said Talan fervently. "We cannot just let Morgoth push us back, league by league. We had him contained until the Dagor Bragollach when he unleashed his fires and Balrogs. It has to stop at some point and we have to do it ourselves."

"True…but now is not the time and Nargothrond is not the place. I can see no other alternative."

Chrys held up his hand to stop further debate. "Very well. I see your mind is made up. I don't condone this course of action, but you have insight into things that I cannot see," he said with a sense of resignation. "You are right in saying that no place is safe. The Court has resumed raiding again and that fiend, Gorthaur, brings storms that hammer our coasts."

A faint smile broke across Fëatur's lips. "I'm glad that you will not stand in my way. I will do my best to protect the child and to keep her from the enemy."

"We will do our part and request that Lyrin assist as well. Go with Varda."

Fëatur nodded curtly and strode from the balcony to take the infant from the arms of a waiting maid. Chrys watched him go with mixed feelings – though he was glad Fëatur's contrary attitude would be someone else's problem, the former servant of Morgoth always had great insight into the mind of the Dark Lord. He pondered the fate of the child for a moment and how she and her brother would play into the Court's schemes.

"What purpose do these spawn of the Dark Lord play in his plots? Surely no good can come from their existence," he said to Ralian.

"I, for one, would not weep if she perished on the long journey north."

Chrys and Talan nodded. "With the taint of the Dark Lord upon her," Chrys mused out loud, "she is likely to grow into a monstrosity."

"And what do we propose to do about the abomination that remains with Ardana?" asked Talan.

Chrys shook his head, unsure of what to do. "We cannot assault the Citadel of Ardor – we have not the strength in arms. Valkrist's Windlords would spy us out before we could move. We will have to devise a more stealthy plan."

"We should consult with Lyaan in this matter," suggested Ralian.

Chrys peered over the railing to see Fëatur riding off with Morelen, the hooves of his horse clattering atop the cobblestones of the road. "Agreed. I sense that time is growing short."

**Ty-Ar-Rana – Home of the Three**

**Lyaan**

Atop a triangular platform, sat a 60 foot pyramid with a triangular door on each face. The structure was constructed of bluish metal alloy that gleamed in the morning sun. Palm trees and well-tended fern grottos surrounded the pyramid along with peaceful ponds full of lillies and swimming frogs.

Elven riders trotted up a cobblestone path that wound through the grounds up to the structure. Chrys Menelrana, the King of the Noldor in the South, reined in his steed and dismounted, planting his soft boots in the rich soil. The leaders of the Guild followed suit and trod the ground up to the pyramid where Lyaan stood waiting.

"Well met," said the leader of the Three, clad in his characteristic white robe. Although his expression was serene, his eyes betrayed his anxiety about what was to come. "I sensed your arrival. Come, we have much to discuss."

The Guild followed Lyaan up the stairs to the pyramid and the portal faded with a shimmer, leaving an open path into the structure. There, the woman, Lysa stood, along with Lyrin. They continued on to the Hall of Reception, where magnificent paintings of the Two Trees adorned the walls along with lifelike images of the Blessed Realm of Valinor. Lyaan moved in front of a series of statues, bearing the physical likeness of the revered Valar.

"It is good that you have come," he said. "The Court begins to move again. Though we have recruited many mannish allies, the Court matches us, move for move. It is as if they have eyes in our council. Two of our secret scouting parties were ambushed and wiped out."

Chrys saw where he was driving at. "Are you speaking of Fëatur? I do not like the connection that he shares with his twin sister. I have long suspected that it goes both ways."

"Although the Court believes that he is dead," countered Ralian. "Or…do you think otherwise."

"All we have is his word on that issue," added Elerior and a palpable sense of paranoia began to grow.

Lysa shook her head in aggravation, letting her blonde hair whirl about her head. "Enough…three centuries later, we still bicker and debate over these issues. One day soon, Ardana will be at our doorstep and we will be out of time."

The boyish-looking Lyrin raised his hand in support of his friend. "We must come up with a plan to counter the enemy. At this time, we have no idea what they are up to or what they propose to _do_ with these twins that Fëatur spoke of. There is a large hole in our knowledge and I, for one, do not feel comfortable with it."

Lyaan looked to his younger brother with a new sense of respect. For many eons, Lyrin was prone to play and frivolity, rarely being able to focus at the task at hand. Something had changed within the youthful-looking Elf and Lyrin saw a hint of maturity forming. "My brother speaks truly. We must find a way to spy out the intentions of the enemy. We must also find a way to infiltrate the Citadel. I suspect that it will be the focal point to all of our efforts."

The members of the Guild murmured for a moment before nodding assent.

Lyaan looked from face to face to solidify his union. "I am still concerned about leaks in our alliance," he said gravely. "We must ponder this and take appropriate measures. For good or ill, Fëatur is leagues away by now on his way north with the child. If he were the source, then we should be free from troubles. If he should return soon, we may be able to use it to our advantage."

Talan's eyes lit up. "What do you propose?"

"No harm should come to him…yet. We have no proof and I'll not condemn anyone on mere suspicion," Lyaan said firmly. "What I propose is that we feed him false information and should the enemy respond, we'll know for sure."

"I think that is a wise course of action," Chrys said with a slight bow.

"Until then, we will counter the Court as best we can and lay out our objectives," Lyaan said in conclusion as he rolled out a map of the region of Ardor. He looked up at a painting of the Sun and furrowed his brows. "What I would give to know what the enemy is planning."

**The North of Middle Earth – The Field of Tumhalad**

**Fëatur**

On the field between the Rivers Ginglith and Narog, the Noldor Mentalist sat atop his horse, surveying the field of rotting corpses and broken war machines. Bodies of Elves, men, orcs, goblins, and trolls lay scattered as far as the eye could see along with shattered catapults and broken spears. Pillars of smoke still wound lazily upward from the smoldering fires of a recent battle. Crows circled overhead while many of their fellows pecked at the fallen, tearing at flesh and entrails. Fëatur covered his nose and mouth with a sleeve of his black robe to ward off the overwhelming stench of death. He reached out to grasp a torn banner that bore the sigil of Orodreth, King of Nargothrond.

Morelen sat on a pony beside him. She had grown to become a tall, precocious child. She looked upon the nightmare scene without emotion, her blue eyes absorbing all that she observed. Like her mentor, she was also clad in ebony which matched her short hair. Her eerie detachment brought a shiver to Fëatur's spine.

"Are you not bothered by the smell," Fëatur asked as his blond hair whipped about his face from the wind. The assault on his senses nearly gagged him – he had never seen the aftermath of a pitched battle.

She ignored the question. "The host of Orodreth has been slaughtered," she said, matter-of-factly. "Nargothrond must be near."

"It is a short distance to the south. We should continue on our journey," he responded, trying to urge her along and away from this place of death.

Morelen eased her legs into her horse and it walked ahead a few paces. She looked on the ground from side to side as if searching for something.

Fëatur looked over to the setting Sun. "It's getting dark. What are you doing? We should get moving."

"Do not fret," the girl chastised, drawing an irritated grunt from Fëatur. "The Orcs are notoriously bad looters," she said knowingly. Fëatur could now see the awesome mind of the blood of a Vala awakening and it made him nervous to say the least. His apprentice could someday soon become the master. He wondered if the guild's feelings about her were correct. Morelen pointed down at something and leapt from her horse to land on the muddy ground. Like Fëatur, she scanned the horizon and noted how she would be able to walk from body to body for miles without touching the earth.

"Here," she said, motioning to a headless body, "lies Orodreth. I can see where the dragon smashed his personal guard." A short distance away, the ground was charred and torn up as if gouged by the claws and tail of a monster. She reached down and picked up a bow with a broken string. "I'm sure this will prove handy."

Fëatur was growing impatient now. "I'm sure it will, but the servants of the enemy are still about. It will grow more dangerous after dark."

Morelen suddenly became conciliatory. "You are right, Uncle," she said. "We will need to find some shelter."

"There is a forest west of here. We can remain hidden for the night."

"We should stay at Nargothrond," she said boldly as the Sun touched the horizon, blazing in hues of red and gold. "I have read that it is a wondrous place."

"Out of the question," he said sternly. "And it _was…_it _was_ a wondrous place."

Morelen shrugged as she drew Orodreth's dagger and looked at the long, graceful curve of the blade. It had a wooden handle, inlaid with gold leaf and ithildin shapes like the leaves of a tree. Tengwar runes were inscribed on the blade near the back. She made a mock stabbing gesture at Fëatur with the weapon and then tucked it in her belt. She looked the body over and pulled the king's cloak from his shoulders. "I should like to find his helm, but I suspect that it is in Glaurung's horde by now," she said as she climbed back on her horse and settled into the saddle. As the Sun disappeared to cast the world in shadow once more, Morelen gave her mentor a mischievous look.

"No…don't even think ab-"

She spurred her horse, and dashed off southward.


	8. Nargothrond in Ruins

Howdy and Happy New Year - Thanks Thug, that was just what I had in mind. I was trying to give a sense of how the Elves see time differently than everyone else. The climax of the 1st part is coming so the passage of time will be less. I want to give a sense of dealing with powerful beings, who are flawed and full of ego. There's going to be a lot of sibling rivalry too.

**Nargothrond – Year 495 of the First Age of Middle Earth**

**Fëatur**

He spurred his horse after Morelen in the growing darkness, his blond hair whipping behind him. He knew the enemy was near and that the danger was growing rapidly. A knot was growing in his belly as images of dragons floated in his mind. _Why does she have to be so willful? She will be the death of me._

He slapped his heels into the horse's flanks and leaned in close to its neck to gather speed. As the darkening landscape blurred by, he whispered a prayer to Manwë. "What must I do? The path before me is naught but darkness," he said metaphorically. "I can only do what I think is best. Please…give me your guidance."

His mind stretched out ahead and sensed Morelen, riding at a full tilt, her youthful exhuberence overpowering any rational thought. An image of water came to him and he knew she was fording the River Ginglith.

_I must hurry. I can catch her there._

He thought briefly of how easy his journey had been up to now. Once out of Ardor, they had taken a Swan Ship to the Isle of Balar that was held by Círdan, the Shipwright, a Sindarin Elf of great renown. Fëatur met with Círdan, who was close with Finrod Felegund. Círdan towered over the Mentalist, standing well over seven feet in height with a ruddy complexion and reddish blond hair. Despite his years, he had a youthful face that hid the pain he felt when Morgoth sacked his Havens of Brithombar and Eglarest nearly twenty years ago. Though Fëatur could not tell the mariner of his mission, Círdan gave them shelter for a time.

_All that I've worked for could come to ruin in seconds._ It was amazing how, in the mind of the Elves, centuries could pass without much thought and then, in the blink of an eye, one moment could mean the difference between life and death.

He reached the banks of the Ginglith as the Moon rose over the horizon. He gave it a cursory glance, giving it thanks for the light that would guide his horse. His Elven eyes quickly adjusted to the dark and he could see Morelen's horse scrambling up the far bank and into the trees.

He called out, his fear of being discovered overcome by his fear of her demise. She looked back and gave a childish laught as she disappeared into the forest. He uttered a frustrated grunt and plunged his horse into the river, hoping that it would not falter. He noted that the water seemed fouled, no doubt a deed of the Orcs and the dragon.

Luck was with him and they emerged on the opposite bank. Fëatur shook the murky water from his hands and face and then urged the horse into the woods. Once surrounded by trees, he felt the aura of the Elves once again and sensed that the forest was yet untainted by the stench of Angband.

_But it is only a matter of time._

The short miles to Nargothrond quickly passed as Fëatur wove his horse around trees and bushes and over rocks and stones, crossing the River Ringwil. Hooves splashed in the shallow, rushing water as his mood darkened. He resolved to give Morelen something that would end her dangerous willfulness once and for all.

Then, he heard a shriek that chilled his blood.

Forgetting all sense of safety, Fëatur spurred his horse down the narrow trail that led to the fabled city underground. His horse was strained under the effort, spitting foam with each breath. As the sound of a great river filled his ears, Fëatur felt his stomach tighten and knot, knowing that disaster awaited him. He quickly enveloped himself in a mental cloak, scattering the solidness of his image to cover his approach. The sound of his horse's hoofbeats faded into a soft patter as well.

As he broke from the trail, he emerged onto a landing which led to the great bridge across the wide River Narog. His eyes darted about, looking for the source of the shriek, but all he saw were the shattered Doors of Felegund that had stood as a barrier to the enemy for so long. The great doors lay askew, broken from their foundations by the violence of the dragon, Glaurung.

Fëatur quickly dismounted and drew his long, curved dagger, known as a kynac in the South. Its silver blade reflected the Moonlight, casting a glow on his face. He took note of the soot and ash that covered the bridge, evidence of Glaurung's fury.

"Túrin, that fool," he said in a whisper about the man who had brought about the bridge and led the Elves to ruin, "If he had only led Nargothrond remain hidden…."

"Unfortunately, the bridge worked both ways," said Morelen, catching Fëatur off guard. He jumped, but quickly caught himself and looked at her with annoyed eyes.

He stood erect and marched over to her, letting his mental cloak evaporate. He put his hands on his hips and gave her his most stern look. "I told you not to run off like that. The servants of the enemy are near."

"Indeed they are," she said, showing him Orodreth's dagger, which was covered in Orc blood. "Just inside the doors, there are three who won't trouble us," she added as she wiped the dagger on a dirty cloth.

This was too much for Fëatur. He seized Morelen by the arm and pulled her just inside the shattered doors to stand in a sliver of moonlight that shone through. He glanced at the three Orc bodies that lay crumpled near the portals. "I tolerated your antics at Balar so as not to offend Círdan. Now, you are under my care and I'll not have my task undone by a willful child. While we are in the wild, you _will_ obey me. Am I understood?"

Morelen seemed unimpressed. "As you wish," she said in feigned obedience. Then, she gestured upward and Fëatur's eyes followed. His jaw fell open.

Despite the defilement of Nargothrond, Finrod's great city was still a wonder to behold. The entry hall was massive, with a vaulted ceiling filled with grottos and hanging stalactites. As Fëatur's eyes wandered, all of his senses were filled – the fragrances of flowers, the sound of running water, the tinkle of bells. Then, he saw the smashed fountain in the center and the broken statues of great Elves. He sighed heavily. His own treachery had led the Noldor down this path. He had given the enemy great help before his repentence. His mind touched on what he had done, but the wound was still raw.

"Get your horse…it's too late to continue on. We'll camp here and continue on tomorrow."

A thoughtful look came over Morelen. "Fëatur, who are my parents? I've been with you twelve years and you've never once mentioned them. I know you are not my father."

Fëatur felt as if he had been punched in the gut. He coughed nervously. "Actually, I don't know," he lied. Lying had been a way of life for him as a servant of Morgoth, so he knew the act well. But somehow, this was different and it wounded him this time. "You were given to me to care for and I have done so," he said, weaving in a grain of truth. "She is a surgeon so I suspect your mother is dead." _Dead in spirit, most assuredly._

"Do you…do you _care_ for me?"

Why couldn't she just shut up and go to sleep? Why did she have to vex him when his only mission…his only concern should be to overthrow the enemy?

"I…I care that we fulfill a higher purpose."

"I have my answer then," she said without emotion. Again, she looked thoughtful and Fëatur knew he wasn't going to like what she was about to say. "What did you do that was so horrible?"

**The Citadel of Ardor**

**Ardana – The Lady**

In the tower of the Citadel, The Lady sat in quiet contemplation, looking out at the stars as they twinkled brightly. Her blue gown shimmered in synchronicity with the lights in the sky, bathing her in a dim radiance that made her pale skin seem even whiter. On the horizon, the great orb of the Moon rose, causing Ardana upset as it bleached out her beloved stars.

She thought back to her union with the Dark Lord and her skin tingled. It had been some years since that event, but in the mind of an Elf, it seemed but minutes. She looked up at the domed ceiling of the tower and gazed upon the likeness of the heavens, a three-dimensional rendering of the web of stars as Varda had made.

"Moran, come here and look at this," she said in her detached, ethereal voice and a young boy, not quite a teen, came and stood by her. He was fair faced with hair as black as the night, standing tall in courtly robes with a sword, strapped to his waist. "Your father desires me to recreate this sky, free from the offensive lights that mar them."

"It is my wish as well, mother," he answered in a clear, high voice.

"I know you will understand when the time comes," she said, hinting at his enevitable demise at her hand. "You must have no fear. You must be brave as I have told you."

"I will," he said, not knowing his fate.

Ardana smiled vacantly. "Good…good. Now, run along. I have brought Valkrist here to continue your tutelege in skill at arms. You must master these arts, my son. I will also have Rilia and Fëatur show you the powers of sorcery. You will be invincible in battle."

"We will crush the enemies of my father and peace will reign here."

She reached out and grasped him lovingly on the cheek. "There's a good boy," she said and sent him on his way. How quickly he had grown. It seemed like the blink of an eye. In another blink, he would be dead, his blood to coat the ceremonial dagger given to her by the Master. And then, all would be as it once was.

Ardana watched her son walk away. So proud he was to be of the Master's line. She had instilled that in him. She felt a chill grow in the pouch that she kept her cards in and knew that someone desired to speak with her. She reached in and drew out The Mirror, a card depicting a blonde person gazing into a mirror-like basin of water, which reflected the image of Fëatur – the female.

"Good evening," she said as she focused her energy on the card. The object shimmered and the person in the card turned to face her.

Fëatur's lips were pursed in a petulant expression, giving her youthful features an arrogant, pouty appearance. "Good evening. I wanted to inform you of a plan that I have," she said, restraining her excitement. Her black robes were perfectly tailored to fit her slender form. She had a high, flared collar that surrounded her head, giving her a powerful, aloof look that was surely intended.

"I sense that it is a good one by your tone."

A smile excaped Fëatur's lips. "Indeed. I am drawing up the plans for an Order that will further our cause. I have recruited promising adepts already."

"I see. Tell me more."

"Ardaron, the Lord of Orbs, has procured an island off the coast. We begin construction within the month. It would have been a good place for Morelen to learn, should she have survived."

Ardana took a breath. The topic of Morelen was still a sore one with her. She had originally intended for the girl to have been the sacrifice and to raise Moran as the heir to the Master. Somehow, she could still feel Morelen in her heart, impossible though it was – she was dead.

"Yes," she said with some annoyance, "it _would_ have been good for her," she finished, indicating that the topic was at an end. "Proceed. I'm sure your brother would have been of much help."

Another sore topic. Fëatur raised an eyebrow. "I have not thought of him in many decades." Ardana knew that was a lie. The twins had been as close as could be, attached at the hip, some would say. "He was a fool to fall away from the Master's wisdom. I'm sure that his time now in the Halls of Mandos will be fruitful. We should give him no more thought."

Ardana nodded and the image of Fëatur faded, to be replaced by the person, gazing into the mirror. The Astrologer sighed. Administrating and leading an organization of evil was often a tedious thing. Powerful beings were usually arrogant and difficult to control as she was finding and not all of them shared her single-minded determination to carry out the Master's will. Many seemed to have their own agenda and, as with most Elves, they lacked the sense of urgency to make things happen quickly.

"It is my burden to bear," she whispered as her attention returned to the stars.

**Naurlindol**

**Rilia – The Sorceress**

The Sorceress stood on her balcony, watching the spouts of magma erupt into the air around her fortress. A sinister red glow shimmered on her face, accentuating her tawny amber hair. Her flame-colored robes caused her to blend into the fiery display as she held her gray staff.

In a moment of frivolity, Rilia summoned fire to her hand and a smoldering hunk of lava flew to her grasp. She laughed with abandon as her mind propelled it high into the air to burst like fireworks.

She sensed a presence in her chamber and turned to see Linsûl, the Harpist. The Sindarin Elf was dressed in her usual form-fitting tights, her sensuality cast out for all to see and her blue, almost violet eyes nearly glowed in the shadows. "Rilia, I have a guest for you to meet."

The Sorceress turned to see a tall male, cloaked from head to toe. She raised an eyebrow. "Who are you?" she asked abruptly in an arrogant tone. She sensed power beneath that cloak.

The man bowed, but did not speak. Linsûl smiled broadly, flashing her perfect teeth. "His identity is not negotiable, but everything else is," the Harpist said saucily, rubbing her hand on his chest. "I bring you…a member of the Guild of Elements. We now have direct insight into the mind of the enemy."

The man remained bowed. "At your service, Sorceress."

A smile now broke across Rilia's full lips, which were painted fiery red. "You will be well rewarded, my friend," she said, now with a warm tone. "Tell me…tell me what my friend, Chrys is doing these days."


End file.
